In Vegas and In Trouble
by Sophie3
Summary: Harry Potter finds himself in trouble when the Las Vegas CSI show up and he has a dead body in his bedroom. The one time he needs the Ministry to butt into his business, and they’re suspiciously absent. Now, how is he going to explain this one? A cross
1. Chapter 1

The Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. all belong to JK Rowling, CSI belongs to CBS and various other people that aren't me. I'm just borrowing my favorite characters for a little fun.

In Vegas and In Trouble

"What do we have?" Grissom asked as he and Brass walked towards the apartment building. He was already taking in the details of the surrounding area. The apartment complex was nice, as far as such things go. Moderate. Seemingly normal. About three stories to each building, clean looking area, other than the yards of police tap strung about and the different officials moving around.

"Bottom floor," Brass said as he lead the way. "Single homicide, male, unidentified, about forty years of age, give or take." Brass led him to one of the doors and pushed it open for him. More officials, taking pictures and tagging evidence. The apartment was seemingly fairly simplistic. There seemed to be a main sitting room, with an attached sitting room and kitchen. A quick glance down the hallway showed three different doors. Laundry, bathroom and bedroom.

There was no body in sight, and Brass was leading him back to the bedroom.

"Who's apartment?" Grissom asked.

"Harry Potter, age 23. Called it in," Brass explained as they stepped into the room. There the body was, laying across the floor haphazardly. Trauma to the head evident by the damaged tissue of the scalp. Male, with thinning hair. Other than that, there was little to be discerned from the body.

Grissom squatted down next to the body and narrowed his eyes. "What is he wearing?"

"That's what we've been wondering," Brass answered. "Looks like a dress."

Grissom leaned over the body carefully and tried to get a better look at it. "Not a dress. Robe, I believe. Look at the way it buttons up, and how it's loose over the clothes underneath."

"An unidentified stranger enters another man's bedroom in the middle of the night, covered in a floor length black robe. I'd say that that looks pretty good for the self-defense case."

"Self-defense?" Grissom wondered out loud.

"Got the kid out there giving his statement. Claims he woke up to the guy coming into his room, and bashed him on the head with that," Brass said, pointing to an object laying beside the body. Grissom shifted over to look at it. A candelabra, antique by the look of it, and very heavy. Brass most likely, and one that was used if the wax on its base was anything to go by. Grissom picked it up carefully and turned it about. There was very little blood on it. For that matter, there was very little blood anywhere. The wound didn't seem to have bled much at all.

"Unusual," Grissom said. "Live bodies tended to bleed profusely from the head. Do you see any kind of splatter? Only dead bodies bleed so little after such damage." Grissom turned around to face Brass, holding up the candelabra. "Mr. Potter, in the bedroom, with the candlestick?"

Sara showed up a few minutes later, kit in hand and eager to get to work. Grissom quickly explain what he knew, and set her to work bagging evidence and looking for things like forced entry, struggle and a possible other murder weapon. He'd have to wait until he had the body properly examined to make it official, but he could tell on his own that there was something not right about this apparent self-defense case.

He moved out of the apartment and to where Brass had his first witness, Mr. Harry Potter himself.

Harry Potter had the general appearance of any other twenty-something. Messy untrimmed hair, worn out t-shirt that looked several sizes too large, and flannel pajama pants in red and yellow. As Grissom came walking over he could see the young man rubbing at one eye wearily, before slipping large black glasses back on.

"Mr. Potter?" Grissom inquired politely as he stepped over.

The officer sitting with the young man glanced up at Grissom, before moving a discrete distance away. Mr. Potter looked up as well and blinked at him owlishly.

"Are you from the ministry?" The boy asked with a heavy British accent and sounding as tired as he looked.

Grissom was already checking the boy over as a piece of evidence. No blood on his clothing, which matched the surprising lack in the crime scene. No obvious signs of having been in a struggle either. An interesting scar on the boy's forehead, but obviously nothing recent and most likely irrelevant. There wasn't even any blood on the boy's fuzzy green slippers. No sign that he'd even stepped foot in the crime scene.

It took Grissom only a moment to cataloged all of this, before he actually looked the young man in the eye and answered his question. "Gil Grissom, Las Vegas Crime Lab."

"Oh." The boy deflated, slouching down. "I was hoping they'd finally sent someone over."

"They?" Grissom asked, setting down his kit on the hood of the car the boy was sitting on.

"The ministry," Mr. Potter muttered, as he tried to look like he was staring at the side walk. Grissom could see the boy's eyes flicking nervously over at him, however, as he opened his kit.

"What ministry?"

The boy bit his lip, doing a terrible job at hiding his nervousness and answered "Britain's" in a very hesitant manner.

"Are you a British citizen?" Grissom asked, wondering if Brass had already questioned the young man on the issue.

"I got a VISA," The boy told him. He made a vague gesture towards the apartment.

"May I see you hands?" Grissom asked as politely as he could.

The young man gave him a perplexed look, until Grissom gestured with his flashlight. The boy seemed to get the hint, and pulled his hands out and held them up calmly for Grissom to see.

"And how long have you been in the States, Mr. Potter?" Grissom asked as he examined the boy's hands. Again, no signs of struggle or of blood.

The young man shrugged. "A little under a year. I'm taking some time off."

There something vague and evasive about the way the boy said it that caught Grissom's attention. "Time off from what?"

The boy shrugged and glanced to the left for a moment, before looking Grissom in the eye again. "From school, you know."

"What school?" Grissom pressed.

The boy shifted slightly. "Well, not school really," he said, his story already starting to stretch. Grissom raised an eye brow questioningly, and the boy flushed. "I'm supposed to start training soon. For, ah, British law enforcement."

"Did you use anything recently to clean your hands, Mr. Potter?"

Grissom was watching the boy carefully, and that's why he saw the way the young man's eyes narrow and the way his nose scrunched up distastefully. "Hell yes," he said. "I – I wasn't going to let that – let the blood sit on my hands, you know?"

Grissom continued to stare at him. Oh, yes, something was being hid here. This young man was clearly hiding something, and it was Grissom's job to find out what.

Grissom turned around slightly, and looked around the parking lot for Brass. There he was, talking with one of the officers. Brass happened to look up when Grissom needed him to, and Grissom waved him over.

"Did you know the man you killed in your bedroom, Mr. Potter?" Grissom asked once Brass had come over.

Again, that disgusted looking face, and Brass raised one eyebrow too. "You failed to say so in your statement if you did," Brass pointed out. Obviously, the young man hadn't been questioned nearly well enough.

"You didn't ask," the young man muttered, not looking either of them in the eye now.

Grissom glanced at Brass. "And his name would be?" Brass asked coldly.

"Peter Pettigrew."

"Pettigrew," Brass repeated, taking out a notebook to write the name down.

"And how did you know the deceased?" Grissom asked.

The boy winced. "He knew my parents."

"Knew?"

Mr. Potter looked up at him then, his green eyes suddenly very cold looking as he narrowed them down to thin slits. "They're dead. Pettigrew was responsible for it. He's wanted in Britain."

Both of Grissom's eyes brows shot up at that one. "The man you believe responsible for your parents' death is lying dead in your bedroom, and you didn't find this relevant enough to mention?" He nearly growled.

The young man hesitated. "I was waiting for the ministry."

"Coming from London's going to take them awhile," Brass replied. "You were just going to wait to bring this up until then?"

"Oh." The boy relaxed slightly and waved one hand. "They should be here any minute really. I'm kind of surprised they aren't here already. Figures the one time I want them to show up, they never do."

Grissom glanced over at Brass. Oh, yes, they were certainly not letting this man out of their sight until they had this whole thing sorted out. It was not looking good for one Harry Potter.

"Mr. Potter," Grissom said, turning back to his suspect. "Would you please tell me exactly how you killed the victim?"

"Hey! He's not a victim!" The boy snarled, suddenly very excited over something up until then he had shown very little alarm over. He even went as far as to stand up, which sent Grissom taking a step back, and Brass moving in to put himself, and his holstered gun between the two of them.

"Now just calm down there, son, and take a seat," Brass told him firmly.

The young man seemed to gain control of himself very quickly, and slowly sat back down on the hood of the car. "He's not," he repeated, but this time softly.

"Cause of death?" Grissom prompted him.

"Oh, yeah. I bashed him on the head with my candlestick."

"Kind of an odd thing to have conveniently next to your bed," Brass pointed out.

The kid shrugged. "I'm used to reading by candle light. I read a lot in bed."

Grissom stared at the boy for a moment before shaking his head. "The body disagrees."

The young man shrugged, but he was back to biting his lip. "Yeah, so? What do you want me to tell you?"

"How about the truth?" Brass said.

"I've told you everything I can."

Grissom smiled grimly at the young man. They'd gotten everything out him they were going to for the moment. "Don't worry," he told him. "The evidence will tell us."

The boy glanced up at him, looking slightly worried again. "Um, you aren't going to take the body, are you?"

Grissom again found himself staring at this young man in shock. Brass found his voice first and growled "What do you want, to keep it as a trophy?"

The young man shook his head, his scruffy black hair flopping about. "No, but the ministry has to see it. I mean that. They have to. Pettigrew got away with it for too long."

Grissom shook his head. "If they want to look at the body, they can do so at the Las Vegas crime lab," he said before moving away and back toward the apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry Potter was in deep trouble yet again.

He sat outside his apartment, watching the muggle investigators walk away, leaving him with one of the uniformed officers. This was not good.

He'd moved to the States after the final fall of Voldemort. It seemed like a good idea to get away from everything for a little while, and try just living a normal life. That meant no wizarding world, and no Britain. He'd never have escaped all of the attention of the British wizarding world if he had stayed anywhere in the country.

So he moved to the States, got a comfortable small apartment, an easy job busting tables at a restaurant down the street, and was just beginning to relax into his new life.

And then Peter Pettigrew crossed his threshold, setting off every ward Harry had put up.

It hadn't taken any thought on Harry's part. He'd been up and out of bed the same moment the wards rippled. His wand had been sitting on his nightstand next to his glass. In seconds the glasses were on his face, the wand in his hand, and himself positioned besides his dresser so that he'd have a clear shot on anyone who came through the door, while at the same time having some protection for himself. The wards weren't set up to be able to warn him of who had entered, just that someone had. A renegade Death Eater was the obvious explanation. He'd had some trouble with them just after he defeated their leader, but most had either been caught, or were hiding as deeply as they could.

Harry had always been prepared, however. He knew they weren't going to just let him lead his life peacefully like that.

He'd planned on restraining whoever it was, and sending them back to Britain to be questioned. The Aurors could take care of that. See if the person knew anything of interest before sentencing them.

But then the door had swung open, and Harry saw just who it was, and he didn't think about it.

Peter Pettigrew. Alive, and more or less well. While Harry's parents and god-father were not.

It seemed like an imbalance that needed to be corrected.

And then he had a dead body on his bedroom floor.

It was not a good situation.

But he managed not to panic. He managed not to abuse the body any more than one swift kick to the head as he moved out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. He needed to call someone. Report the incident. Have someone with authority come and clean things up for him. He couldn't jus wallow in all of the anger and frustration he'd been repressing. He had thought killing Pettigrew would have been more satisfying, but all he really wanted to do was sit on the floor and flounder in all the bad memories and feelings. But he hadn't let himself do that after the war and he wasn't going to start now. There had been thing to be done.

So he did what he'd been instructed to do if any problem should arise, and he used the telephone (a radically muggle thing by most British wizarding standards) and called the wizarding British embassy.

After getting transferred from one secretary to another, he was finally told to just wait in his apartment, and someone would be sent over shortly.

He'd assumed that meant a wizard.

He hadn't expected the Las Vegas police department.

And here Harry was, in deep trouble yet again.

He watched the two investigators leave, and he knew they didn't believe him. Hell, he wouldn't have believed himself if he was in their place. It was the type of story Snape would have bought from a Slytherin, no exactly a ringing endorsement of veracity.

He didn't know what was going on, he didn't know why there were all these muggles here and not a wizard in sight, but he was getting to the point where even Snape would have been a welcomed sight.

"Mr. Potter?"

For one brief deluded moment, Harry thought he might have gotten his wish. And then his brain kicked in and he realized that not only was the voice not Snape's usual sarcastic mocking drawl, but it was also female and polite.

Harry turned slightly to face the blond woman walking over to him. She had some kind of metal case in one hand, and a black vest on that read CSI Las Vegas. She was most likely not a witch then, and not there to get Harry out of this mess. He sighed.

"Yes?"

"Catherine Willows," the woman said bluntly, but without exactly being rude. "I'm with the Las Vegas crime lab, and I going to have take your clothes, sir."

Well, that wasn't something Harry had expected. He coughed slightly to hide his embarrassment and hoped he wasn't blushed too much. "What?"

The woman took a little bit of pity on him and smiled slightly. "Your clothes. They're now evidence. I'm going to have to take them into the lab," she explained.

"Oh." That kind of made sense. That's what muggles did, wasn't it? They had to rely on physical things like finger prints and such to prove any thing. Just like in the movies. Still, part of Harry wanted to say no quite firmly. One of the few things Harry had learned in potions was that any kind of personal belonging could be used against you in a number of different kinds of potions. Usually the more personal the more powerful the potion. His clothes weren't terribly personal, but enough to make him hesitate.

The woman was staring at him, however, he head tilted to the side slightly, and that polite smile starting to look a little thin. "Is there a problem?"

Harry grimaced. There wasn't much for it. And she was just a muggle, after all. Not a threat. He had to repeat that in his mind one more time before he could muster up a shy smile for the woman. "Um, how exactly…um…" He trailed off, not needing to fabricate the awkwardness.

The woman's expression lost some of its edge. "This gentleman right here," she said, nodding towards the policeman. "Will escort you somewhere more private so that you can change. He'll have to stand with you, I'm afraid. That won't be a problem, will it?"

Yes, yes it would. Harry's wand was still in his jean pocket. How the hell was he supposed to transfer that from one pair of pants to another without it being noticed?

Harry hesitated. He was praying desperately for the promised ministry agent to show up. The one time he'd want them around, and they were no where to be found. Just a ton of muggles that didn't believe him, suspected him of murder, and that he couldn't explain anything to properly without breaking some very serious laws about secrecy. Not good.

"Will there be a problem, sir?" the woman repeated, her voice again growing demanding. It reminded him of Aunt Petunia, of Mrs. Weasley after the incident with the Ford Angelica, of Professor McGonagall. Of trouble. Which was what he was in.

"No, ma'am."

Someone had better come quick and get him out of this!


	3. Chapter 3

AN: This chapter was written before the release of the new Harry Potter book, so it takes nothing from that book into account and contains no spoilers. I also have already planned out most of this story, and unfortunately, the new book contradicts some of my planning. I haven't decided yet whether to include some thing from the book, but I will certainly be EXCLUDING key parts. So from this point on, the story is AU for Harry Potter.

* * *

"Grissom?"

"Yes, Sara?"

"Can you come here for a moment?"

Grissom sighed, and pushed himself back up to his feet. He'd been studying a worn looking trunk in the closet. It was tucked away behind some clothes, but definitely had the look of something that was used regularly. It certainly showed signed of wear and tear, numerous dents in the sides and scraps and marks all over. Someone had even drawn some kind of little picture on one side of a circle with wings, maybe some kind of logo for a sports team. It reminded Grissom of the kind of doodles students made in notebooks and along bathroom walls. It was likely that Mr. Potter had had the trunk for some time.

It also wouldn't open. No matter what Grissom tried, he couldn't get the thing to open. There didn't seem to be any lock on it. He'd been able to throw back the clasp on the front, but the lid wouldn't be raised. The he'd checked for other clasps, an alternate seam, even checked the hinges for rust. Everything seemed to be in working order, he just could manage to force the lid up.

He shook his head as he stared down at the thing. Whatever was wrong with it would have to wait until he got it back to the lab. There he could take a better look at it and see if he could get it to open. It probably didn't have anything to do with the case, but Grissom wasn't going to take the chance.

"Grissom?"

Grissom backed out of the closet and moved through the bedroom and back into the rest of the apartment. Sara was there, helping him organize the evidence. She was bent over as if she had been looking at something on the coffee table, but her head was up at an odd angle and she was staring at the sliding glass door to her right.

Her eyes flickered over to Grissom for only a second. "Grissom, what is that?" she asked slowly and softly.

Grissom frowned, and came more fully into the room so that he could see more. The glass door lead out back into the kind of small area commonly considered a back yard for these kinds of apartments. There was nothing much to note there, but sitting on the small concrete patio just outside of the doors was a large white bird.

Grissom stepped closer, immediately looking for details about what kind of bird it was. It was certainly not native to the greater Las Vegas area, and probably couldn't even bee found on the entire west coast.

Grissom crouched down to get a better look at the animal. "It appears to be an owl," he commented, recalling as much as he could about the different kinds of owls he had read about over his life time. He didn't remember much about white ones, but it was certainly a large specimen, perhaps something characteristic of the particular breed.

"I figured it was something like that," Sara replied a bit tartly. "But what is it doing here?"

Grissom tilted his head to the side and shifted his glasses. The bird was standing just outside of the glass, close enough that its beak almost looked like it was touching the glass. It seemed completely undisturbed to be so close to human beings, or to be standing in the middle of a civilized area. It was a beautiful animal, with white wings tipped in black and eyes that stared back at Grissom with an unusually intelligent look to t hem.

"What is it doing here?" Sara asked again. She'd moved up behind him, and her voice had grown even softer, as if she was afraid that if she spoke too loudly she would frighten the bird off. Grissom wasn't so sure if it would or not. The bird seemed unnaturally calm.

It just stood there calmly, as if it was waiting for something.

Grissom squinted as he suddenly noticed something. "Is that something attached to its leg?"

Sara leaned over his shoulder and squinted her own eyes. "Yeah. Weird. Something stuck to it maybe? Looks like a piece of paper or something."

They both stared at the bird and the bird stared back at them. Suddenly the things head jerked forward and it slammed his beak again the glass hard enough to rattle it, but not hard enough to do any damage to it or to itself. It did manage to make both Grissom and Sara jump back.

They glanced at each other, then back at the bird. "Want to make any bets on if this is somehow connected to the case?" Sara asked him with a grin.

Grissom felt himself smirking back slightly. Yes, it seemed pretty definite that there was something going on here, and it involved both the bird and Mr. Potter.

"The question is, however," Sara said as she took a step back away from the window, a thoughtful look on her face. "Just how are we going to catch the thing?"

"I'm going to try something," Grissom replied, motioning for her to take another couple of steps back. She gave him an odd look, but complied.

Grissom stepped around the door, to stand on the right hand side of it, hidden behind the wall. He reached out carefully and pushed back the lock on the door. It made a small clicking noise, but the bird didn't seem to notice. Slowly, he started to push the glass door back, away from him, trying to keep himself hidden as much as possible, hoping the bird would stay calm if it couldn't see him. The bird seemed to. It only fluttered its wings once as Grissom nudged the door back. Grissom had frozen when it did, but it had made any kind of move to take off, and he'd continued with his half formed plan. If he could get the door open, maybe he could coax it inside, or at the very least, maybe they'd have the chance at trying to catch the thing if it decided to take off on them.

It wasn't until the door was open wide enough for a large man to fit through easily that the bird decided to move into action. Grissom tensed up again, but the bird wasn't taking off to fly away, it was flying _in_!

Grissom jumped back, as did Sara. Owls weren't particularly aggressive animals, but they could do a number to one's hands and face.

As calmly as if it was the most natural thing in the world, the bird flew _into_ the apartment, not away from it, and landed gracefully on what up till then they had taken to be a parrot stand next to a large empty cage. Apparently it was home.

"Isn't it illegal to own an owl?" Sara asked quietly. She looked a little startled.

"Generally," he replied, moving away from the door and towards the stand. "It is possible to get a special permit, however. We'll have to check to see if Mr. Potter has one."

Grissom had been steady moving closer to the animal, and it had done nothing but watch him just as carefully. It did not seem alarmed by his presence, and there was the chance that it had been domesticated enough not to be alarmed by the presence of a human. This was Las Vegas, after all, and it wouldn't be absurd for the animal to be nothing more than a part of a show.

Still, the thing could do some decent damage with those claws and beak, and Grissom proceeded carefully.

"I'm going to try to get that thing off of its leg," he announced. "It might be evidence."

"Be careful!" Sara hissed.

Grissom just nodded. He was watching the bird carefully for signs of distress, but he was also staring at the piece of paper attached to its leg. It was rolled up and looked like it was tied on with apiece of string. This was Vegas, but that was still a little weird.

The bird didn't move, not even when Grissom got close enough to touch it. It just stared at him calmly.

Then Grissom reached out and tried to snag the piece of paper quickly. The bird didn't like this. It suddenly flared out its wings and beat them furiously at Grissom. Grissom winced and jerked back, bringing his hands up to protect his face.

"Watch out!" Sara cried out from behind him.

As Grissom moved back, trying to placate the animal, it suddenly lifted up off of its perch, its wings flapping rapidly as it tried to hover there. It was going to take off once it thought it could.

"Shut the doors!" Grissom yelled as he jerked back, going for the glass door. He slammed it closed, just seconds before Sara had the front door slammed shut. The bird started hooting then, sounding very distressed and not happy. It rushed forward suddenly, coming at Grissom, and he had to duck down to avoid the thing colliding with him. The glass door was behind him, and he expected the poor animal to be confused by it and to fly head first into the glass, but at the last second it veered off and circled through the kitchen and into the bedroom.

Sara made as if to go after it, but Grissom caught her arm. "It's going to contaminate our crime scene!"

Grissom shook his head. "It's okay. It's part of the crime scene. Let it calm down."

"What if it doesn't?" she asked as the thing came zooming back into the room, circling once before zipping back into the bedroom, still hooting shrilly.

"Then we'll have to catch it." Grissom replied.

Sara winced. "Great. How are we supposed to do that?"


	4. Chapter 4

There was a shout, the sound of something crashing and the screech of a very unhappy bird. Everyone turned to stare at the door to the apartment.

"Oh, no," Harry said softly. "Hedwig." He'd sent her off to Hogwarts when this disaster had first started, using a rather complicated charm that essential apparated an owl across great distances. The spell was difficult and draining, but necessary. He needed to let someone from the Order know what was going on. He just hadn't expected someone on the other side to return he the same way. Not many people could manage that charm.

Harry glanced quickly at the officer standing next to him. The man had started at the noise, but his eyes shifted back to stare at Harry. He wasn't going to let Harry wander off anywhere.

One of the other policemen was moving towards the door, one hand on his weapon. He cracked the door open just an inch. "Everything alright?" he asked.

"Shut the door!" someone yelled and then there as another crash and something that sounded like "damn bird!" shouted from inside.

Now everyone was staring at the door and Harry was starting to get worried. Hedwig must have brought him a response. Someone would probably try to take I from her, and she'd defend it like the proper owl she was. He just hoped she didn't get hurt.

The blond lady that had taken his clothes walked over to the door and tapped on it. "You two okay in there?" she asked. There was a response, but it was too muffled for Harry to make out what it was, but the woman was frowning now.

"Um, ma'am?" Harry lifted his hand to get her attention and ignored the disgruntled look from the officer beside him. He needed to do something about this now before something happened to Hedwig, or before Hedwig happened to someone else. She could be very aggressive in protecting his mail, and he didn't nee her clawing the face of one of the investigators.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" the woman asked. She walked over to him and was staring at him the way his professors used to when they knew he hadn't done his homework.

"That bird belongs to me," Harry told her. He needed to stay calm, sound confident. Act Slytherin.

The woman just stared at him.

"Um, she's – ah, not going to calm down unless I'm in there," Harry told her. "I don't want her to get hurt."

"We won't hurt your bird," the woman told him, starting to turn away.

"But _she_ might hurt someone!"

The woman stopped and looked back at him.

Harry stared right back at her. "She's scared, ma'am. Can't I just go calm her down?"

Something else crashed within the apartment and the woman turned to look over her shoulder at the door. Then she sighed. "Well, come on. You can get the bird to hold still until animal control comes."

Harry didn't hesitate to follow her, happy to get away from his guard. The man had been making him nervous ever since Harry had changed. Harry _had_ managed to slip his wand from one pocket to another without the man seeing, but he couldn't help the feeling that he was going to be found out at any moment.

"Animal control?" Harry asked her. "Is that really necessary?"

The woman arched one carefully sculpted eyebrow. "You have a large, potentially danger, frightened animal? You think it isn't?"

"She's just startled, that's all.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter. I'm sure she'll be fine."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, since he didn't have a choice. She probably would be fine. She just was _not_ going to be happy with him.

They walked up to his door and the woman tapped on it again. Harry felt a little weird waiting to be let into his own apartment, but after a moment the door popped open just wide enough to see one eye looking out at them, framed by shoulder length brown hair.

"Mr. Potter wants to know if he can try calming down his bird. I thought you might need the help."

The door shut for a moment and they could hear voices on the other side. The woman who had opened the door wanted to know if they should let Harry in. After a moment, the door popped back open "Make sure you get in here quick. We don't want it getting away."

Harry wouldn't have minded if Hedwig managed to get away, but he didn't think that was going to happen, so he did as he was told and slipped through the door.

The apartment had looked better.

There were white feathers everywhere, not to mention quiet a few things knocked over, chairs, books and even his cheap little coffee table. Harry sighed. He liked this apartment. That was the only reason he was putting up with all of this. He didn't want to give up his quite life here in Vegas. Having his apartment trashed was also something he would have liked to have avoided.

There was a screech from the other room. Harry stepped farther in and could see one of the other men from before trying to get close enough to catch hold of Hedwig. But Hedwig was much to smart for that and was eyeing the other man suspiciously like she wouldn't mind taking a chunk out of his hand.

There was also a letter clasped in her claws.

Harry sighed. "Hedwig," he called softly. That was all it took. Her eyes shifted over to him and in a moment she was darting forward and coming to land carefully on his shoulder. She was a big bird, but now hat eh was a little older, he could support her weight as long as she didn't dig in too much with her claws. But Hedwig was much to fine o an owl to do anything like that, and instead she perched herself delicately, letter clasped lightly in front of her, waiting to be delivered.

Everyone in the room stared at the to of them an Harry felt like sighing again.

"I guess that worked fairly well," the blond woman, Willows, commented. The other woman just nodded.

The man from before stood up with the speed of someone whose knees aren't as good as they once were and walked over to join them. Grissom, if Harry remembered correctly. "That's a beautiful bid you have there," he commented. He didn't sound like someone who'd just spent who-knew-how-long trying to catch said bird.

"Her name's Hedwig," Harry replied, figuring he ought to introduce them. "Hedwig, this is Inspector Grissom." Grissom smiled in response and Harry felt himself relax a little. Maybe this wouldn't be too bad. Harry turned to the blond woman. "And this is Willows. And this is…"

"Sara Sidle."

"Sorry about the trouble," Harry told them, reaching up to rub Hedwig's head soothingly. "She doesn't always react well to strangers." He moved slowly over towards the couch. Her perch had been knocked over and he had to set her down somewhere. It was the only way he might have a chance at slipping the letter from her without anyone noticing. He managed to get as far as to move Hedwig from his arm and the letter from Hedwig when he was stopped.

"We'd like to see that, Mr. Potter."

Harry turned his head slowly to face Grissom. "This?" he said, holding the letter up carefully o that all they saw was blank paper. "It's just a spare piece of parchment."

"All the same, Mr. Potter," the man replied, just as politely. "If you would, please."


	5. Chapter 5

Handing over the letter was not an option. Harry didn't know what was in it. He didn't even know who it was from. He hadn't talked to any one from back home since he left. He'd sent a couple of letters to Hermione and Ron to let them know he was doing alright, but he hadn't gotten any responses. He'd charmed his apartment to turn away any owls other than Hedwig. The whole point of being out here was to get away from everything. When he had sent Hedwig, he'd told her to deliver his hastily written message to the first Order member she found at Hogwarts. That left a lot of possible recipients, and who knew what they had written back.

It really just wasn't an option to let this muggle inspector have his letter.

At least not without checking it first.

He didn't wait to ask for permission. In one quick motion he had it unfolded, ignoring the squawk of protest from one of the inspectors.

There was no seal, which was good. Easier to check and more likely that there was nothing _delicate_ written within. He recognized the handwriting immediately.

_DO NOT TALK TO THE MINISTRY. Do nothing until an Order member arrives. _

_And for Merlin's sake, don't cause any more trouble!_

Harry winced. None of that was any good, except maybe for the Order member part. It would be nice to have someone on his side here. But that bit about not talking to the ministry? That couldn't be good.

"Well?"

"Huh?" Harry glanced up to find all three inspectors glaring at him. Opps.

Inspector Grissom held out his hand. He didn't look quite as friendly as he had a moment before and Harry was fairly certain that he'd just gotten himself into even more trouble. But at least now he knew there wasn't anything _too_ damning in the letter. He handed it over without further protest and with a slight smile that he hoped was both apologetic and innocent looking.

No one seemed to buy it.

Grissom took the letter from him carefully, his gloved hands holding it as delicately as if he was worried it would disintegrate right in front of him. He read it out loud, then passed it to Sidle.

"Interesting, Mr. Potter," Grissom said, turning back to stare at him while the two women looked over the piece of parchment. "What exactly does it mean?"

"Um, I'm not to talk to the ministry?" Harry replied. "And that I'm an idiot. That's what the last bit means."

"'An Order member'?" Willows asked.

"Um…" That one was a little harder to explain. Sticking with the truth seemed like the best plan. He didn't want to get tangle up in his own lies. But the _whole_ truth was definitely out of the question. "They're an organization," he said, trying to make it sound as inconspicuous as possible. "They used to, you know, take care of me when I was younger."

"Legally?" Willows asked.

"Yeah," Harry said with a smile. That was an excellent explanation.

"'And for Merlin's sake, don't cause any more trouble,'" Grissom read again. "Interesting word choice. I don't think I've ever heard Melrin's name taken in vain before. Who wrote this?"

This didn't count as taking to the ministry, did it? Harry floundered for a moment. He didn't think it did. The man had said he wasn't part of the ministry. He was a muggle. A muggle _scientist_. There was no way he was from the ministry.

"Um, an old Professor of mine," Harry replied.

This time it was Sidle. "Your teacher writes to you after you kill a guy and tells you not to talk to the police?"

Harry flushed. Yeah, he'd killed a guy, but it was just Pettigrew, right? Though, when she said it, it did sound pretty terrible. "Yeah," he muttered, trying not to think about it being more than _just_ Pettigrew.

"Some teacher," Willows remarked.

"Does this teacher have a name?" Grissom asked.

"Yeah," Harry replied, figuring it couldn't hurt. "Severus Snape. That's why there's that idiot part at the end. He thinks everything I do is idiotic."

"Is it?" Grissom replied. He didn't wait for a response, however. "And how do we contact this Severus Snape?"

"Um, I don't think you can," Harry answered quickly. He didn't even want to think about a bunch of muggle trying to contact Severus Snape. It wouldn't go over well for either party. Snape might be one of the good guys now, and hell, he and Harry might even somewhat kind of get along, but that did not change the fact that Severus Snape _was not a nice man_. "He lives in England," Harry explained. "In the country. Without telephones."

"How convenient," Sidle drawled.

Harry just shrugged. It was the truth and he couldn't change it.

"And do you know why your professor friend told you, rather insistently, not to talk to the ministry? The ones you were so eager to talk to just a moment ago?" Grissom asked.

Harry grinned slightly. "Probably because they have a tendency to bungle things up pretty bad. Snape's probably just being cautious. He always is."

"We are going to have to take you downtown, you do realize that, don't you?" Willows asked him, giving him a look that clearly said he was an idiot if he didn't.

"And talking to us is going to make things go a lot smoother," Sidle added on.

Harry looked back and forth between the two of them, then at Grissom. He was no stranger to being questions, and wasn't very worried about anything they could do to him. But he did like his apartment an awful lot, and he wouldn't like having to leave it behind because of all of this.

Grissom stared back at him with absolutely no expression. No hint of what he was thinking other than that he was watching Harry very closely. "I don't like mysteries, Mr. Potter."

Harry sighed. It was going to b a long night.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Yes, it's a new chapter. But it's short. Just warning you now. I am sorry I haven't updated sooner, but I just haven't been able to write anything for this fic. My mind has been on other projects, I'm afraid. All of the reviews and favs and alerts were VERY encouraging, however. Black-Haired Girl (an old friend of mine) has also been poking me about this and got me moving again. She and I are also working on an AU Gundam Wing fic that isn't out yet. I am writing the Wufie sections and will hopefully have some snippets posted soon for those interested. I'm also working on a HP/Naruto crossover. .;; yes, that probably guarantees me a spot as biggest dork, but I couldn't help myself. I'm holding off on posting that one until I have at least several chapters done.

I will keep trying to write this fic, however. I do know where I am going with it and owe it to everyone who's been so encouraging to finish it. I can't say how long it will take me. I wrote this section a couple of times and wasn't happy with it. Then it all just kind of clicked, and I'm fairly pleased with it. It's short, and not too earth shattering, but it is a part of the plot that has to happen to move on to more exciting things. Like Snape.

Standard disclaimers apply. PLEASE remember that I started this having only seen the first couple of seasons of CSI and it reflects that. So, Greg is still in the lab, there's fewer characters and a lot less drama. It was also written after book 5 of HP, so while bits of 6 and 7 may pop up, it disregards most of those events.

* * *

There was something ironic, Harry was certain, about his predicament. There was no way for it not to be. This irony, however, was hard to appreciate as he sat in a small muggle interrogation room and waited. And waited. And waited.

His Aunt and Uncle had always said he'd end up a criminal.

Not that he really believed that. He didn't. Peter Pettigrew had deserved death. Deserved it in a way few people did. No, Harry certainly wasn't going to feel guilty. He'd made that mistake once before and let the traitor live. He was never going to make that mistake again.

No, he didn't feel guilty. But he didn't feel particularly happy either.

He was cold, for starters. The metal chair he sat on didn't do much to fix that, and the thin shirt and pants they'd given him to wear when they took away his pajamas weren't helping much either. But Harry could handle cold. Castles were drafty, after all, and closets under stairs were even worse. He'd long ago grown accustom to cold. He didn't like it, but he could handle it. He kept his arms crossed over his chest and held himself perfectly still. Clenching his muscles that way would help keep him warm without those god-awful tremors.

There wasn't much else to do. He had watched people through the window in the door as they walked by his room, but more often than not, they were looking back at him and he didn't like that. Too much like being back home and living in a fish tank. He hated it when people stared at him. And somehow, being the one inside the room staring out at the people and not one of the people staring in put him at a distinct disadvantage.

He'd stopped meeting their stares early on. Instead he stared carefully straight ahead at his own reflection in the large mirror in the room and thought about the Mirror of Erised and why he didn't feel happy the way he thought he would.

* * *

Time-polished wood, fade brown leather and tarnished brass buckles looked archaic and out of place in the sterile white lab of Las Vegas CSI. The trunk was much lighter than anticipated. In fact, it seemed to weigh nothing at all. Which was peculiar for a trunk its size. The heavy wood planks, wide leather straps and decorative brass knobs should have weighed quite a bit. Grissom had seen trunks like this in antique stores and in the homes of older, more traditional residents. They were usually kept as family heirlooms, displayed proudly in the home, and were heavy. Mr. Potter's trunk weighed nothing at all. Which didn't make any sense. Which meant there had to be an explanation for it.

"Could it be that the trunk's just empty?" Greg asked ever so helpfully.

Grissom turned to glance at him. He had carried the trunk in himself, amazed at how light it was, and commandeered an examination room. Greg had wandered over shortly there after and was currently standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, brow furrowed in concentration and eyes bright with curiosity.

"How much would you think a trunk like this would weigh?" Grissom asked in return. "Theoretically. If it was empty."

Greg frowned. "I don't know."

"Guess."

The younger man shifted uncomfortably. "Five pounds? Maybe?"

"Those are pine planks," Grissom pointed out, with a nod towards the box. "And the brass. The lock alone must weigh at least two or three pounds. If not more."

Greg scowled for a moment before brightening suddenly. He took Grissom's invitation and hurriedly stepped into the room and up to the trunk. He walked slowly around the table, studying it from each side. "Alright. How about ten, maybe fifteen? It would be hard to tell without being able to see how thick the wood planks are."

"To do which we would have to be able to open it," Grissom muttered with a sigh before moving on. "Still not a bad guess. This kind of workmanship isn't light. Trunks are made to be sturdy, to take a beating. So why does this one feel like it doesn't weigh any more than a box of tissues?"

Greg's attention snapped back up to Grissom and away from the trunk. "What? Really? It's that light?"

"I nearly fell over when I first lifted it. I expected it to be much heavier and wasn't ready for it." Grissom nodded towards the trunk again. "Try lifting it."

Greg already had clean gloves on, so he didn't hesitate to participate. He didn't make the same mistake as Grissom, however, having been forewarned. Instead he carefully lifted one end. When he met no resistance, his eyebrows raised. "Weird."

Grissom smiled. "Weird only begins to cover it." He sighed and rapped his knuckles on the top. "I can't get it to open; and I've used just about every trick I can think of. The lock doesn't even appear to be in use, but it still won't budge." He glanced down at his watch quickly before looking back up at Greg. "Tell you what, I'm due for an autopsy. Want to take a stab at opening it?"

"Me?" Greg replied.

Grissom grinned. "Yes, you. Give it a try. Consider it a puzzle. I'll be back shortly to give you a hand. Just don't let the lab get backed up."

"No, sir!" Greg answered immediately, all smiles, enthusiasm and optimistic determination. Grissom grinned at him one more time before slipping out of the room. It was good to keep Greg busy and it never hurt to let fresh eyes take a look at a difficult problem. Who knew? Maybe he'd even be lucky and Greg would figure it out before he returned. There certainly seemed to be some kind of magic trick to getting that trunk to open.


End file.
